


Seven Days

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellison agrees to allow Sandburg - and Larry - to stay for a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Days

The small room was crammed with those of his belonging which had survived the explosion. While Larry sat grooming himself, sneezing occasionally from the smoke clinging to his fur, Sandburg sat glumly staring into space.

It was great - amazing really - that Jim had stepped into the breach and let him - them - into his home but he was under no illusions. In seven days he’d be history. He had to find somewhere to squat. Renting anything would be out of the question for months. He’d books to replace, a deposit to get together... Not having insurance was a bummer. Meanwhile he had exactly forty eight dollars and twenty three cents to see him through till the end of the month, which meant back on the oatmeal diet for a while. Maybe that warehouse down on Seventh and Vine needed more packers. He’d give them a call. Minimum wage was better than no wage at all. He had a monkey - ape - to feed.

Absently petting the small ape, he sighed. Lying to Jim again was hardly a good start to their relationship. The Dr McCoy thing had been different. Necessary. The same way claiming Larry was a test subject had been necessary. Larry's furry ass wouldn't have touched the ground if Jim had known he was looking after Larry as a favor to a friend - the fact he hoped gratitude for said favor would see him in said friend's bed was neither here nor there.

***

 

Ellison lay staring up at the ceiling, mourning his fucked karma. Why else would he be subjected to this purgatory. What had made him imagine Sandburg could help him, let alone invite the mouthy little shit into his apartment? His quiet, clean oasis from the stresses of the job. Hell, he didn’t even remember how it had come about.

Dial it down, dial it down. Focus. Breathe. Concentrate. Concentrate.

Oh jeez. What was that smell?

Sandburg?

Boy, what did that guy eat?

Oh. No. It was Larry. Well, that was a relief.

It seemed kind of cruel to keep a monkey - ape, Barbery Ape - watching TV all day. Though Sandburg was meticulous about making notes.

Damn, that dialling down thing worked even when Sandburg wasn’t right next to him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to look into what he ate, the products he used.

It was kind of soothing to hear someone else breathing in the apartment again.

Monitoring ape and human, Ellison fell asleep.

 

***

 

Blair shot up in bed as Larry began to ping the wire bars of his cage. How the hell could he calm a traumatized Barbery Ape? He still wasn’t sure how Marie had persuaded him to ape-sit for the two weeks she had to look after her sister’s kids. It was interesting how families automatically assumed that the older, unmarried sister would be able to drop all her academic commitments...

The pinging of the bars grew louder. Seeing no way out of it, Blair unfastened Larry’s cage, calmly talking to him while he fed him small portions of mango.

Marie’s study regarding the effect of violence on primates had seemed interesting until he’d begun to look at it from Larry’s perspective. Not that Larry seemed to object.

It was great - amazing really - that Jim had stepped into the breech Half a banana and a mango later and Larry was showing signs of settling down for sleep in the semi-circle of warmth provided by Blair’s curved legs. Sliding back into bed, Blair closed his eyes.

 

He woke up to find his hair under Larry’s charge as the ape laboriously fingered his way through the tangled curls.

“Shit! Damn it, Larry.”

There was a cursory knock on the doorframe before the curtain was drawn back. Jim lounged in the doorway, clear of eye and looking nauseatingly wide awake.

“Morning, chief. Sleep well? Uh - ?” The warmth on Jim’s face froze and he was obviously trying to avoid inhaling. “Far be it for me to get personal but what the hell is that smell?” he muttered, his nose wrinkling with disgust.

His own senses flooded with essence of Larry, who was sitting on the pillow next to and partially on his head, Blair gave an approximation of a shrug. “Coffee?” he offered, not without hope.

“It’s on the counter. I don’t do room service. Hey, it’s that damn monkey.”

Blair ignored the implicit slur on his personal habits. “He used his cage. I’ll clean it.”

“I know you will,” said Jim, a hint of steel beneath his affable exterior. “Are you planning to get up any time soon?”

“Why?” demanded Blair, unaccustomed to having his behavior questioned.

“Because I’m due at the station in half an hour.”

“Oh, you want me out before you. That’s cool.” Protecting the roots of his hair, Blair moved, much to Larry’s displeasure.

***

 

Tripping over the backpack dropped just inside his - ‘their’, if only for a week - front door, Jim hung up his jacket. By supreme effort of will he stopped himself from picking up Sandburg’s jacket. Today he got as far as the coffee table before he had to turn back and see to it.

The jacket neatly hanging beside his own, the backpack stored beneath it, Jim tried to avoid looking at the disaster area which had been his nice neat living area only seventy two hours ago. OK, maybe some people had thought it was kind of austere. He liked austere. Besides, it was easy to keep clean.

What the hell was that hanging over the back of the couch?

Dial it down. Dial it down.

Socks and the single man. Maybe Sandburg should write a paper about that instead of all those tests which were -

Helping, honesty compelled him to concede. He took a beer from the refrigerator, popped the tab and took the first long, satisfying swallow, then went back, took out another can and headed for Sandburg’s room.

***

 

No flushing after ten - not that he took any notice of that, of course. No visitors equaled no sex life. Not with a Sentinel less than twenty feet above him and a curtain for a door.

No loud music, incense or candles. No breathing too loud -

Sentinel or not, nothing was worth putting up with this kind of shit. Jim had to be the -

\- man he’d tricked into coming to him for help. The guy who’d offered up his home to a virtual stranger - not to mention a Barbery Ape that had trashed the place. Twice.

Those bullshit rules aside, most of which had been territorial posturing anyway, Jim was surprising easy to live with.

It felt weird coming home to someone, or finding yourself waiting for them to come home. Cooking for two without any ulterior motive - trying to persuade Jim to take a few more tests didn’t count.

***  
There were times during the last two days when he wondered if the kid had hypnotized him. Nothing else explained giving Sandburg a key.

He’d given a key to his home to a total stranger.

Who’d saved his life. And sanity.

But did that mean Sandburg had the right to drive him crazy 24/7?

***

Jim knew Sandburg felt at home when he found the first half-eaten tuna and sprout sandwich growing a beard under the couch. Though how he’d missed the stink now that Larry was gone was a mystery.

It had probably got lost in all the other Sandburg smells. Though at least he didn’t have Larry to contend with any more. Much to his surprise Sandburg wasn’t actually that difficult to live with - if you discounted the smells, the music, weird food and the hours he kept. And those fucking tests of his.

On the plus side, he was even-tempered, woke bright-eyed and bushy tailed, made great eggs and usually remembered to let him have the first shower. He was even learning to clean his hair out of the drain.

Of course, the whole tupperware thing had been a waste of time. Though it had been a relief to discover that those grubs had been for Larry rather than Sandburg. Or worse still, an ingredient for one of those potions Sandburg kept trying to shove down his throat.

***

The room was small and dark with windows and doors in unexpected places and it felt as if he’d been living here forever. Clothes, books and papers exploded from the boxes stacked on most of the available floor space where he’d been trying to locate those notes about that guy’s sense of hearing in the hope he’d find something in them to help Jim.

He’d only seen that look of terror in Jim’s eyes once - when Jim had him pinned to the wall of his office, but that was once too much. No one should be that terrified of losing their mind. Not when they’d been blessed with such a wondrous gift.

Damn, he’d finally found himself an honest-to-God, all senses off-the-scale Sentinel.

***

Rain battered the glass as Jim came down the stairs. Wary of losing himself in the light refracting from the droplets of water, his attention was caught by a small movement from Sandburg, where he sat on the couch in a wild nest of belonging. Typing at speed, the concentration on Blair’s face was total.

Knowing better than to try and disturb that, he went and lit the fire, as much for the comfort the sight of a real fire brought as for the warmth it would bring. Blair looked cold, even in that cranberry colored sweatshirt, whose warm tones only accentuated his pallor.

He’d heard Blair leave his room just after four; Blair had been working ever since.

Lash’s legacy.

Jim’s mind skittered away from the memories, still blaming himself - as did Simon - for failing to spot the psycho. And for failing protect the civilian in their midst who had become Lash’s target. Blair.

He made some fresh coffee, automatically reaching for one of Sandburg’s canisters of tea. Ginger - warming, soothing. Opening the canister, he automatically dialed down, the bite of ginger something which still caught him out on occasion.

“You were up early, chief,” he said casually, when Sandburg stopped typing, looked up and gave him a welcoming grin.

Untangling himself from an afghan, four books and his laptop, Blair wandered over to the fire with his tea, crouching down in front of it, his back to the room.

“Sorry, if I disturbed you, man. I would have stayed in my room but - I needed to spread myself.”

Recognizing the evasion, Jim let it pass. Sandburg’s room, once a refuge, had become a place of horrors. While Blair had never said - because he still avoided any in depth discussion of what had happened when Lash broke into the loft - Jim was pretty sure Lash had finally captured Blair in his bedroom.

“Oh, you mean like always?” he said.

Blair swung round, avoiding Jim’s eyes. “I guess. Sorry,” he mumbled, and Jim wanted to kill Lash all over again. Only slowly this time.

“Too much marking and not enough research makes Sandburg a dull TA. Drink this tea while it’s still hot. You want pancakes? Dumb question,” he accepted, and headed for the stove.

After a moment Sandburg came over to help him, giving a lecture on the harmful effects of enzymes in washing powder.

Breakfast and the dishes a distant memory, and Sandburg back at work, Jim saw to some chores before settling down with the New York Times.

***

“Jim! You zoning, man?”

“What? No. Just thinking about - ” Jim stopped guiltily but Sandburg only gave one of those gummy grins of his.

“Chill. I figure you only tune in to about half what I say.”

“You knew?” blurted out Jim, yet to lose his touching belief in his powers of deception where his room-mate was concerned.

Blair rolled his eyes theatrically. “Give me a break here. I’m a TA. I’m used to people not listening to me.”

While the mellow voice was warm and relaxed, Jim caught the note of bitterness in the throwaway flippancy. “Everything going okay at college?” he asked casually.

Caught mid-sip of juice, Blair damn nearly choked to death.

Thumping him on the back, Jim handed him a piece of kitchen toweling with a look of resignation, wincing at the moist sounds which ensued.

“Don’t you think you’re over-reacting to a simply display of interest?” he enquired.

“Don’t give me that,” scoffed Blair, still hoarse from coughing. “When was the last time you showed any interest in my college work?”

“And your bad memory would be my fault because? You ready for another break, only I could use some lunch.”

Blair glanced at his watch. “I’m not surprised. It’s after three. I’ll fix some sandwiches. If you haven’t got a date I’ll see to dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good, chief.”

 

“Jim, can I ask you a personal question?” asked Blair, through an over-large mouthful of sprouts, sweetcorn and tuna sandwich.

“No,” said Jim placidly, trying not to notice the sprouts which flew one way while the sweetcorn rolled the other.

“When you’re in the bathroom do you - ?”

“Sandburg, which part of ‘no’ didn’t you understand?”

“If I waited for encouragement from you I’d be old and grey,” retorted Blair with spirit. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You care to put money on that? How can anything I do in the bathroom be of interest to you?”

His sandwich history and his fingers licked cleaned, a gleeful smile lit Blair’s face. “I guess you’ll never know unless you let me ask the question.”

Amusement lurking in his eyes, Jim finally abandoned any hope of being able to finish the paper. “Are you about to claim you wouldn’t ask without my permission?”

“Claim? See, that’s an interesting choice of words, man. The - ”

Jim placed the palm of his hand gently but firmly over Blair’s mouth.

“Ah,” he murmured appreciatively. “Hear that?”

Pushing Jim’s hand away, Sandburg’s expression was a mixture of amusement and resignation.

“There wasn’t anything to hear.”

“My point exactly, chief.”

Blair’s eyes narrowed. “That rash is back, isn’t it?”

Damn, but he was sharp. Jim grimaced, dismissing the question. “Just drink your drink and let me read the paper in peace.

“Hey!” he protested, as Blair slipped open the buttons of his shirt in a move so dexterous it was a sure bet he was the master of removing bras.

Blair batted his hands away before baring Jim’s torso. “Ah hah! I knew it. You ate that damn candy and you’ve been going to the bathroom to scratch.”

“Aren’t I entitled to any privacy?”

“You mean the way I am?” returned Blair, undeterred .

Jim maintained a lofty silence, just before he surreptitiously scratched his diaphragm, which was covered in angry-looking red splotches.

“How far down does that spread?” demanded Blair.

“That’s for me to know,” said Jim, with as much dignity as was possible for a man being parted from his clothing.

 

***

 

“What d’you mean, Sandburg’s living with you?” Simon’s voice was steadily rising up the register.

“Only for a week. Until he finds somewhere,” Jim said defensively, avoiding the disbelief on his captain’s face.

“And when did you reach this momentous decision?”

“When that warehouse he was staying in blew up.” Jim looked surprised that there should be any doubt.

Wearing the satisfied look of a man who’d just landed a fine catch, Simon propped himself against the edge of his desk. “That would be the explosion that took place over two months ago, I presume?”

Muttering something about reports which needed writing, Jim headed back to his desk.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Completed around 1999


End file.
